


April Showers and a Little Sunshine

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:45:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas wants to do Easter as dapper as possible - and with Cas in a brand new suit, Dean can't really complain. A little rain and a big fight can't throw off the warm and fuzzies of the holiday, and Dean starts to realize that his new life probably won't be falling apart any time soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	April Showers and a Little Sunshine

Dean hasn't been this sexually frustrated since middle school.

 

He's sitting in a dressing room on the bench outside one of the changing stalls, mouth slightly agape. He's in Banana Republic, of all places, and the cause of his disoriented mental state and the heat in his lower stomach is his angel, clad in a suit and tie, looking sheepish and eager for feedback. His hair's all messed up from dragging his shirt over his head when he got changed, but he is otherwise orderly and put together. The combination of would-be sex hair and dapper attire has left Dean momentarily speechless.

 

“Perhaps a different colour tie?” Cas says uneasily, casting furtive glances at the full length mirror behind Dean. Cas' tie is a subdued, pastel pink. His suit isn't tuxedo-formal or anything, but it's still classy as hell. He's wearing a dark blue blazer over a tight black vest and a white button-up shirt, and the way he's biting his lower lip nervously at his reflection is borderline unbearable. Dean's silence seems to be perturbing him.

 

“Dean.”

 

Cas' voice, now irritated, snaps Dean out of his reverie.

 

“Don't change anything, you look fucking h... awesome,” Dean says enthusiastically, standing to his feet and striding over to Cas. He's never asked Cas how he feels about PDA, and they don't make a habit of it (unless they see their over-zealous Republican neighbor – she warrants impromptu near make out sessions on the spot), but Dean currently can't help himself from slipping an arm around Cas' waist and tugging him into a kiss. He's vaguely aware that a public men's dressing room probably isn't the right place for it, but he doesn't care. Still, he tries to keep the fire that he's feeling through his bloodstream out of the kiss. He still hasn't gotten past a drunken one-off hit to second base, and he has a feeling now isn't the best time to push forward.

 

… But _damn_ if Cas doesn't look good in a suit.

 

“Even the pink?”

 

“ _Especially_ the pink. It's for Easter, man, you're supposed to be all pastel and shit.”

 

“Right,” Cas says, fussing with the tie. Dean bats his hands away and straightens the tie, which Cas has inadvertently pushed askew.

 

“Now take it off,” Dean says. When Cas gives him a peculiar look, he quickly rephrases, feeling his face burn red. “Er – so we can buy it. You have to... yeah. Change clothes.” He clears his throat awkwardly and looks away. Cas looks confused at Dean's strange behavior, but he doesn't comment. He goes back into the stall to change and Dean curses himself at the way his thoughts plummet when he hears Cas' zipper. He's pretty sure this is all Gabriel's fault, somehow, and he really wishes a good ol' stake in the heart would do the guy in. He totally deserves it.

 

“Now we'll find yours,” Cas says from the other side of the door.

 

“My what?” Dean asks distractedly, mentally focusing on things that are decidedly _not_ Castiel in a suit. Like wendigos and homicidal grandma ghosts and headless vampires.

 

“Your suit, Dean,” Cas explains as he opens the door. He's not wearing a sweater, for once, and his frame looks significantly thinner without one. The weather is officially too warm for the cozy clothing Cas has gotten so used to. The angel had been quite unhappy when Dean insisted this morning that Cas change into something lighter because all that fuzzy fabric was making him warm just looking at it. Cas had settled on wearing one of Dean's lighter jackets.

 

Which, of course, made Dean feel all funny inside too. He's pretty sure he's in heat or something.

 

“I'll wear one of my Fed ones,” Dean says dismissively. The thought occurs to him that Easter's supposed to be all about Jesus or some shit, but he can't stop picturing his sort-of-boyfriend in high definition incredibly unholy imagery. Complete with soundtrack. 

 

“No. They are not 'pastel and shit',” Cas points out, quoting Dean's words in his characteristic monotone voice that makes it impossible for Dean to take him seriously when he curses.

 

Dean snorts. “Not really a pastel person, Cas.”

 

“But it's for Easter, Dean.” There's a certain undertone to Cas' voice that reminds Dean implicitly of Sam when he was little, asking for something he's afraid Dean won't be able to give him. Like money for a field trip when he knows they're broke, or to keep a kitten he knows their motel won't let them have. Like with Sam, Dean finds it very, very difficult to refuse this tone.

 

“Yeah, well. What would you have me wear?” Dean says, already caving. Cas smiles – and _God_ , does Dean ever love that smile – and flags down one of the men who work in the store. The man is tall and has dark hair along with well manicured stubble. He's beautiful, stunning and is eyeing Cas like he's some sort of meal.

 

“How may I help you?” the man asks, and he's got a damn Italian accent on top of everything else. Dean's guard is up immediately, feeling his turf being invaded. Cas, blissfully unaware, gestures to Dean.

 

“He needs something to wear for Easter,” Cas explains, “I presume your advice will be better than mine.”

 

The man laughs, puts a hand on Cas' shoulder and smiles, all pristine white teeth and charm.

 

“I'm sure well find something suitable for your friend,” the man says – and that's about it, all Dean needs to step in and defend his territory. He puts an arm around Cas' waist possessively, tugging him subtly away from the man. The man raises his eyebrows in question.

 

“Yeah, my _boyfriend_ can talk me into just about anything, even a suit. Can't you, Cas?”

 

Cas says nothing, only looks at Dean with wide, round eyes.

 

“I am your boyfriend?” Cas asks, and the man laughs again, flashing Dean a sympathetic look. Dean glowers, tightens his grip around Cas until Cas glances down at his hand, frowning subtly.

 

“Dean?”

 

“Your friend seems to have had some sort of misunderstanding,” the store clerk says, and Dean sort of wants to rip his lungs out.

 

“I'm not his _friend_ ,” Dean spits, words like acid venom. Cas looks like he's been struck in the face and even the man looks startled. Dean's feeling about as defensive as it gets. The hand not clutching Cas is slowly balling into a fist as he pins the store worker with a glare usually reserved for demons and vampires.

 

“I don't understand,” Cas says, inching out of Dean's grasp. Dean looks away from his would-be rival to look at Cas, who he hadn't realized now appears distant and withdrawn.

 

“Should I go?” the store worker asks, Italian accent still so pretty Dean wants to cause him bodily harm at all costs.

 

“Hell yeah you should,” Dean says, and the man doesn't hesitate to go. Dean turns his full attention to Cas, who is thumbing through a rack of shirts distractedly.

 

“Cas?”

 

“You are not my friend, Dean?” Cas says evenly, eyes focused on each shirt as he looks through them. Dean suddenly gets it and his stomach drops. Cas misunderstood and Dean hurt his feelings. He almost curses under his breath, but catches himself – now is not the time to appear exasperated. It _is_ frustrating sometimes, though, dealing with a once cosmic being who has the people skills and social knowledge of a five year old.

 

“Cas, you're more than my friend,” Dean says gently, easing into Cas' personal space until their shoulders are pressed together. Dean looks at Cas intently until Cas has no choice but to look up from the clothes rack and meet his eyes.

 

“First off, you're my _best_ fucking friend and I love you almost as much as I love Sammy – which is saying something, seriously – but you're more than that. 'Friend' doesn't cut it.” Dean hates talking about his feelings, of course, and the fact that they're in Banana Republic just makes everything worse. What he's saying feels almost physically painful to vocalize.

 

“I see,” is all Cas says, and Dean is torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to strangle him. He's like, baring his soul over here and all Cas can say is ' _I see'_ ?

 

“I think I should start calling you my boyfriend, Cas,” Dean says decisively. Dean's never been sure, exactly, what to call their relationship. In his head, Cas is just 'my angel' or 'my sort-of-boyfriend-thing', but Dean figures now is as good a time as any to clearly define it. Since, y'know, he's already baring his soul and all.

 

“I would like that,” Cas says, and a genuine smile flickers to his lips. Dean's heart skips a beat – he'd sort of thought Cas would have no opinion on the matter, which would make Dean feel a little stupid for caring so much. It's nice that Cas appreciates the real life equivalent of changing a Facebook setting from 'It's Complicated' to 'In a Relationship' as much as Dean does.

 

“Good. Now no more talking to seductive Italian men, okay?”

 

“You were concerned he would... 'seduce' me?”

 

Dean snorts. “Hell no. Not with me around. Let's buy your stuff, Cas, we'll come back when Mr. Suave over there is off his shift.”

 

“No, Dean,” Cas says firmly, “That is ridiculous. Buy your clothes now and we won't have to come back.”

 

“ Cas – ”

 

“ _Dean._ ”

 

Cas' I-Am-an-Angel-of-the-Lord face is on in two seconds flat and Dean swallows his retorts. Cas is pretty friggin scary when he wants to be, and Dean knows when to pick his battles. Besides, this little shopping excursion counts as a _holiday thing_ , and Dean's learned by now that Cas has final say in holiday things.

 

Dean gets a tan blazer that is decidedly more dapper than his fed suit, a darker tan vest and a pastel green bow tie that Cas says looks nice with his eyes. Dean can count on his fingers how many times he's worn a bow tie in his life (three), but the way Cas looks at him wearing one now makes him consider the pros and cons of wearing one every friggin day. He feels a little funny all dressed up like this when he's not working on a case, but he can't help but admit that his reflection in the mirror looks pretty damn nice.

 

Banana Republic bags look out of place in the back seat of the Impala, but Dean's taking it in stride. So much of his life has changed that the few shopping bags he sees in the rear view mirror are hardly worth a thought. For a brief, bizarre minute Dean pictures the back seat with something _else_ entirely – something it hasn't had since Sam was very, very small. He shakes the thought from his head immediately, not even allowing his mind to form the word. He looks visibly unnerved the whole ride home, fists clenching the wheel. Cas looks at him curiously but doesn't ask; he knows Dean well enough to know when he needs his space, even if it doesn't seem to make any sense.

 

By the time they're home, Dean has thoroughly freaked himself out over how apple pie and domesticated his life has become. For whatever reason, all his internal warnings are kicking in, telling him that this not a life that Dean Winchester can have – _deserves_ to have. He can't get rid of the stupid _car seat_ from his mind, can't get the word out of his mouth where it itches to be spoken about. He's inexplicably angry, again, and all the while Cas is watching this unwarranted turmoil of emotion from surface level.

 

“Dean?” Cas asks after they've been sitting about a minute in the car, ignition still turned on. Dean seems to snap out of a sort of reverie and he turns off the car. He plasters on a smile, swallowing his anger, and chuckles.

 

“Spaced out a sec there. Need help with the bags?”

 

“I'm fine. What's wrong?”

 

There's a beat where Dean decides how to answer. A flurry of possible lies go through his mind before his mouth blurts out, more roughly than intended, “Put your shit in the house, we're going to Cape May.”

 

“Cape May... New Jersey? Two hours from here?” Cas asks dubiously.

 

“Yeah, I was looking through the news last night and they've got clear signs of vampire activity. Don't think there's any hunters in the area.”

 

Cas opens the door without further word, grabs their bags from the back seat and takes them out to the house. Dean sits back in his chair and rubs his temples with his forefingers, closing his eyes. Cas is back in a flash – Dean suspects he may have thrown the bags on the couch – and is buckling his seat belt before Dean knows it. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't mention the new recipe he'd been telling Dean about earlier, the one he was going to make for dinner. He doesn't say anything, just sits back and gives Dean a look that clearly tells him to drive.

 

*

 

It's dark and very late on their drive back, April rain dotting the windshield. The ride back feels even longer than the ride down did. It's spent in tense silence, broken only by the quiet patter of rain against the car. Dean's knuckles are white from how hard he's clutching the steering wheel, eyes fixed sternly on the road.

 

Cas' right forearm is bandaged from elbow to wrist, wound tight in white bandages. Dean's got several deep scratches on his face and arms, but nothing major. Both boys are covered in blood that is only half their own. Cas has been staring at Dean the majority of the ride. Cas' ability to stare is nothing new to Dean, not out of the ordinary in the least, but it's doing nothing to lighten his mood.

 

“You have a window for a reason, Cas,” he says finally, exasperated, when the staring has finally gotten to him. Which, admittedly, takes a while. It's strange how used to it he's gotten.

 

“You're brooding, Dean.”

 

Dean says nothing, just focuses on the long and empty road ahead of them.

 

“This is because I was injured.” It's not a question; it's a statement. Dean doesn't say anything for a while, just drives and drives while Cas stares.

 

“Well, shit, Cas, of course it is,” he snaps at last, meeting Cas' eyes for the first time since they got in the car. “I could have gotten you fucking killed.”

 

“We're hunters, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean winces. “Danger is generally expected.”

 

Dean thinks back to their battle with the vampire – which had turned out to be three vampires, once they got there – of the way Cas' face went distorted with pain when the vampire flung itself at him and sank its teeth in his flesh. Dean remembers the surge of adrenaline he felt, the store his body reserves for when people he loves are _directly_ in threat of being killed (never, y'know, a minute or two ahead of time for God's sake). He'd been on the ground, then, halfway across the room, but he managed to scramble to his feet and stick a machete through the ugly son of a bitch's neck before he could do any lasting damage. Cas had returned the favor almost immediately, hacking off the head of the vampire who had snuck up behind Dean in his process of heroism. Dean had been pretty impressed at the time; Cas killed the thing left-handed because the pain throbbing through his right was too great.

 

Now, though, he can feel nothing but revulsion.

 

“Not for _you_ , Cas,” Dean answers and Cas' eyebrows narrow, confusion slowly replaced with something else.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You're – shit, Cas. This?” Dean gestures to Cas' injury “This, right here? This should _never happen_. You're – you _were_ an angel, Cas, you could take those sons of bitches out with your pinky. But now –  ” Dean thinks back to the first day they met, when he'd wanted nothing more than to gank Cas like every other monster he'd ever met. He remembers sending bullets at him, lunging a knife into his chest. “Because of me, you're not an angel anymore. You can't heal yourself. You're mortal. I did this to you.”

 This is all my fucking -”

 

“Pull over.”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Pull over,_ ” Cas growls, putting a hand on the steering wheel as if to demonstrate that he'll willingly do it himself. Dean obeys, too startled to really process what's going on. As soon as he puts the car in park, Cas is out of the car and rounding to Dean's side. He pulls open Dean's door and drags him out by the lapels of his jacket. He shoves him against the back door, glaring at him viciously.

 

“Don't ever let me hear you say that again,” Cas says, fire in his words so great it renders Dean speechless. He's in Dean's face, leaving no choice but to look him in the eyes. Cas is still remarkably strong, despite his relative slightness in physique. It's as though his muscle memory remembers that it once had incredible strength, and is clinging to that.

 

“You didn't _do_ anything to me, Dean Winchester. Or do you think me to be some small child you coerced into sin? Impressionable and easily manipulated? _I chose this, Dean_.” Cas gives the slightest shake of Dean's jacket in his fists, as if to reiterate the point. Out here in the dark and rain, the low growl of his voice sounds even more intimidating. “Thousands and thousands of years of rigid obedience. Do you really think I'd throw it away without thinking?”

 

Dean makes a small sound, tries to avoid Cas' eyes and fails.

 

“ _I love you, Dean_. A thousand injuries are nothing compared to the happiness I've found with you. So _shut up_. This whining is pathetic.”

 

“Cas -”

 

“Now get in the car and drive us home.”

 

*

 

It's nearly midnight when they get back, and the rain has picked up to a much harder downpour. The porch light is on, though, making their flat look like a warm and inviting beacon.

Cas starts to get out of the car and notices that Dean isn't following.

 

“You go ahead, Cas, I'll be back in an hour or so.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Tough hunt, man. I need a drink. I won't be gone long, don't wait up-”

 

“No. Turn off the car. You're coming inside and watching Lilo and Stitch with me. I will make us hot chocolate and we'll finish the brownies in the fridge.”

 

“Cas-”

 

“And then you'll kiss me because you've irritated me very thoroughly today.”

 

“... Hm. That so?”

 

“Yes. You have to make me forgive you.”

 

Dean sighs, cracks his neck and turns the key in the ignition, turning it off. Then, swiftly, he leans over and kisses Cas, slipping a hand to his cheek. Cas reciprocates immediately and the kiss soon blurs into a series of kisses. Dean can feel Cas' pink, chapped lips grow puffy from all the attention and he smiles as their lips connect. Whatever doubts he may have had ease away. He feels childish.

 

“It's cold,” Cas says, _just_ as Dean's thinking about going for tongue and maybe doing something about all his sexual frustration (which had been momentarily forgotten in all of today's manly angst). Dean successfully pushes down a groan of irritation before opening his door. He'd forgotten about the rain, which pours on his head adamantly as soon as he steps out of the car. He darts to the sidewalk and Cas takes off his trench coat quickly and puts it over both their heads. They make a run for the porch and, thanks to the coat, are only slightly waterlogged.

 

“Tomorrow we go shopping for Easter lawn decorations,” Cas mentions as Dean puts the key in the lock.

 

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes.

 

*

 

The following day breaks with bright blue skies and sunshine, leaving the damp sidewalks and wet grass as the only indication that there was ever rain at all. Dean wakes up curled up next to Cas, legs loosely tangled. Cas is already awake, propped up on an elbow and running his fingers absently through Dean's hair.

 

“Morning,” Dean mumbles, groggy.

 

“Good morning, Dean.”

 

“... c'mere,” Dean says and reaches out his arms. Cas accepts the embrace and cuddles in, his back pressed against Dean's chest. Dean nuzzles his nose into the back of Cas' neck and presses kisses there.

 

“'m sorry,” Dean murmurs into Cas' hair, “for being a dick all the time and whatever.”

 

Cas grabs Dean's hands and laces their fingers together.

 

“You wouldn't be you if you weren't. I forgive you.”

 

There's a peaceful quiet for a while. Dean revels in the way he can feel Cas' breathing through his chest, likes how soft Cas' fingers are. His _boyfriend's_ fingers are. He likes that he can say that now.

 

“Do you forgive me enough to make me breakfast?” Dean asks after a bit. Cas chuckles.

 

“Yes – as long as you come with me today. I have a long list of things to buy.” Cas sits up, stretching for a moment before standing up. Only then does he notice that Cas is wearing boxers and one of Dean's t shirts. Dean clears his throat, looks away from the bit of Cas' back that is exposed when he stretches.

 

“Augh, fine. Just no more candles!”

 

Cas pauses mid-step on his way to the kitchen.

 

“But, Dean -”

 

“We _just_ got new candles like four days ago.”

 

“They weren't _Easter_ candles, Dean!”

 

Dean groans. He wasn't even aware Easter candles existed. He reminds himself that it's a _holiday thing_ and that Cas has free reign here, so he just shrugs and clambers out of bed himself.

 

“Whatever you say, Martha Stewart.”

 

*

 

Dean is pretty sure that Cas could singlehandedly keep the Holiday Store in the mall in business, just by the sheer amount of time and money they spend there. After the first half hour they spend sniffing candles – they're Easter egg shaped and smell like cake and tulips and other festive things like that – Dean's just about had it with the store. He gives Cas a kiss on the forehead and tells him that he's going to lose his marbles and gank the nearest Easter bunny if he doesn't get out of the store soon. Cas nods understandingly and suggests that Dean walk the mall.

 

Dean returns an hour later to find Cas at the register, heavy-laden with bags. Dean rushes to his aid, grabbing the largest one. Dean has his own bag, which he adjusts so he can hold the new one as well He inspects the Cas' bag's contents as they walk out of the store.

 

“You seriously found light up lawn ornaments for _Easter?_ Dude, I've never even heard of those. I thought that was a Christmas thing. And then after Valentine's Day I thought it was, y'know, a Christmas and Valentine's Day thing – they seriously make outside light up bunnies and Easter baskets?”

 

“Obviously,” Cas says, gesturing toward the bag. Dean rolls his eyes. Cas notices the other bag in Dean's hand and eyes it curiously.

 

“What is that?”

 

“Uh. Gift for you.” He puts the bigger bag down when they reach the car and fumbles through his pockets, busying himself with his keys to hide the inexplicable blush adding a pink tinge to his sandy freckles. 

 

Cas' expression doesn't change, but Dean notices the way his eyes light up. He decides that it's a good look on Cas, that sort of eager curiosity, and he's pleased he's the one that put it there.

 

“What else did you get?” Dean asks once they're in the car and on the road. Cas looks through the bags, taking inventory.

 

“The Easter egg candles, as you know. The store worker said they're very potent and the house will smell nice instantly. I have several Easter rabbits to put on the coffee table and bookshelf and kitchen counters and -”

 

“Basically every free surface in the house, I'm guessing.”

 

“Well. Yes. I got a new apron as well. It has rabbits on it.”

 

“I'm guessing you like bunnies, eh?”

 

“Yes. I think they may be my favorite animal. Aside from humans, that is. I bought us plastic Easter eggs and an egg dyeing kit. I've invited Bobby, Sheriff Mills, Sam and Sarah to Easter dinner and I'll devil the eggs after we've colored them. Why do people color them, anyway, Dean? I don't understand that part.”

 

“Dude, no one does. It makes absolutely no sense.”

 

 “I don't really understand anything about this holiday, considering it is said to be about the supposed resurrection of Jesus, yet is celebrated with bunnies and... eggs.”

 

“Beats me, man. But hey, it's colorful and there's a lot of gratuitous chocolate, so what the hell?”

 

Cas nods. “It's a foolish holiday, but I am fond of it anyway. I also bought tulips to plant in the front yard. I think that's it.”

 

They pull up to their flat and carry their bags in, setting them on the couch so Cas can take everything out and decide where it goes. No sooner do they set the Holiday Store bags down does Cas round on Dean and pluck the other bag from his hands. Dean just chuckles.

 

“Only compromise is that you're not allowed to wear it out of the house, okay?”

 

Inside the bag is a thin, white sweater, appropriate for the newly warm Spring weather. The novelty of it is that it has a hood, and on the hood is a pair of floppy fabric bunny ears. Cas pulls it on at once, putting the hood up and letting the ears flop over his face. He looks absolutely ridiculous and equally adorable, and Dean can't fight the grin that etches its way onto his face.

 

“I'm wearing this everywhere, Dean,” Cas says seriously, giving one of the ears a tentative tug.

 

“No way, man. You look like a nerd.”

 

“You've always called me a nerd,” Cas points out. “ 'Nerd angel',” he quotes, air quotes and all.

 

“Touche. You're gonna kill my rep with that, though. My boyfriend the Easter bunny. I'll lose all my street cred.”

 

“Street cred?” Cas muses, crossing the distance between them and putting a hand on Dean's waist. “Overrated.” He kisses Dean, a soft little thing that reminds Dean somewhat of a rabbit, for whatever reason. Dean wraps both arms around Cas' waist and kisses him back.

 

“Maybe,” Dean says, “I've got something better, anyway.”

 

“Hm, really? And what's that?”

 

“You.”

 

*

 

Cas is all dirty and Dean loves it.

 

It's the day before Easter and they're outside in the front yard, both kneeling in the flower bed outside the porch of their flat, bearing spades and covered in dirt. Turns out that the earth in the tiny flower bed was hard and inhospitable to incoming plants, so Dean and Cas had to dig up quite a lot of it in order to soften the ground. They figured adding water would help their cause, but today is the first time they've used the hose that came with the flat and they weren't aware that the water pressure was so intense. They ended up with a veritable ocean of mud. Cas got the worst of it; he made the mistake of staying in the flower bed when Dean turned on the hose, not anticipating the intensity of water flow, and was splattered with mud. Dean's only dirty because Cas threw some at him in protest.

 

There's mud on the tulips, too, and the whole flower bed looks like an awful mess. Dean's having a little trouble caring, though; Cas is wearing a tight white tank top and a pair of old jeans and Dean has lost the ability to think clearly. Cas' palms are black with dirt and there's smears of mud on his face. All in all, Cas as a gardener is sexy as fuck and Dean was not prepared for their little Easter activity to leave him – yet again – painfully sexually frustrated.

 

Cas sits back on his heels and observes their handiwork. “They're about as appealing as our Christmas tree was,” he remarks, attempting to swipe some dirt from one of the flower petals and only further smudging it.

 

“It's got Winchester appeal. A little rough around the edges but there's some charm there.”

 

“Perhaps. If nothing else, it brings color to the flat.”

 

“... Cas. Our front lawn is lit up every night with glowing bunny lights. Don't think we're lacking for color here, man.”

 

“ _Natural_ color, Dean.”

 

“You're such a girl, dude. I need to keep you away from Sam.”

 

Cas scowls. Dean notes that Cas is kinda hot when he does that, too, and he mentally adds 'angry sex' to the steadily building list of fantasies he has regarding Cas. His eyes dart to Cas' lips, bright pink and chapped as ever. Cas notices.

 

“What are you thinking about, Dean?”

 

Dean clears his throat and swallows hard.

 

“Uh – church,” Dean evades quickly, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Are you making us go to church Sunday? For Easter mass or whatever? Cause I hate to break it to you man, but they're not the most gay-friendly places in the world, especially around here.”

 

Cas shakes his head.

 

“We're going to church – ” Dean groans at this “– but not to a Christian service. I don't want to spend my holiday amongst people who would make us uncomfortable, but I _do_ want to do everything that the holiday includes.”

 

“But _Cas_ -”

 

“Holidays are my domain, Dean. This is my first year immersed in humanity. Let me explore it. We're going to church.”

 

“Whatever you say, Cas,” Dean grumbles.

 

They end up laying in the grass of their front yard, staring at the blue sky overhead. The whole world smells of Spring and rebirth; the grass has a fresh scent to it that makes everything feel brand new. Dean takes Cas' hand as he searches for pictures in the clouds.

 

“I know that's not what you were thinking about, by the way,” Cas says offhand after several minutes in quiet tranquility. Dean blanches.

 

“Er, what are you talking about?”

 

“You know, Dean. And I'm still interested. I think about it, too.”

 

Cas gets up, then, and walks into the house. Dean lays there a while longer, brain going over and over Cas' statement, psychoanalyzing it. _I think about it, too_. He closes his eyes and thinks about the implications of that. A shiver runs down his spine.

 

He really, really needs to get on that.

 

*

Cas falls asleep in a pair of boxers and his bunny sweater, hood up and ears draped across his face. He's the picture of innocence in sleep, and Dean wonders at how this man can be at once the scariest and cutest thing he's ever met. He lays in bed til he's sure Cas is asleep and then sneaks off to the kitchen to put Cas' Easter basket together. He fills it with all the essentials – chocolate bunnies, caramel filled Easter eggs and Peeps. He hasn't had a proper Easter since before his mom died, but he's pretty sure he's covered all the basics.

 

He shuts off the kitchen light and takes another peek at his angel. He can see him faintly in the light of the three candles he's left burning for Dean before he goes to sleep. He chuckles at the sight of the bunny ears. Figures Cas would like such a dorky thing, figures his favorite animal would be a rabbit.

 

With that thought, an idea strikes him. He grabs his coat and his keys and slips out the door, casting one last fond smile at Cas before he leaves.

 

*

 

Dean wakes up to a kiss on his temple. He smiles, eyes flickering open to the sight of Cas, all bright-eyed and extra happy like he always is on holidays.

 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, “Happy Easter.”

 

Dean responds first with a kiss to Cas' mouth.

 

“Morning, Sunshine,” he says, “Right back at you.” Then, Dean hears a quiet rustling sound from the far end of the room. He panics quietly and looks at Cas – Cas has heard it, too.

 

“Did you hear -”

 

“I don't know about you, but I'm dying to try that Easter tea you got. I don't even know how you managed to _find_ Easter tea.”

 

“Internet,” Cas responds with a shrug. He peers in the direction the sound came from, but Dean distracts him with another kiss.

 

“C'mon, get up,” Dean says, nudging Cas' thigh gently with his knee. Cas stretches and does so, helping Dean up directly after. The two trudge sleepily to the kitchen and Cas puts water to boil. Dean sits back in his chair and watches Cas pull out things to make breakfast. Soon there's a host of ingredients on the table – milk, eggs, sugar, vanilla extract, pumpkin pie spice and apple butter. Dean raises an eyebrow.

 

“Dude, what's with all the stuff? You're making Easter dinner tonight for like five people, don't wear yourself over breakfast.”

 

“I don't intend to. That's why I picked something simple.”

 

Dean looks at the counter skeptically. “With that many ingredients?”

 

“It's not as hard as it looks. I'm making apple butter french toast.”

 

Cas isn't kidding; breakfast takes all of 15 minutes to make and looks phenomenal. By now the tea is finished steeping and Cas serves them both, coming to sit beside Dean. Their table is big enough that Cas could sit opposite Dean, but he never does. Their lack of personal space thing dates back way before they were dating – though the word _dating_ feels strangely inaccurate to Dean – and it doesn't seem to make much sense to quit it now. Their elbows bump affably every now and then as they eat.

 

Dean makes a face of pure delight as he puts the first forkful of french toast into his mouth. It's by far better than any french toast Dean's ever had, and he groans blissfully as he swallows. Cas gets a peculiar look on his face at that, but Dean's too busy enjoying his food to analyze it. The tea is amazing, too. It's called 'Thé de Pâques'; it's spicy and citrusy and fruity at the same time, black and sweet enough to be drunk without cream or sugar. He closes his eyes a moment, savoring it as he drinks. He's gotten over thinking that tea is for pansies. Tea is _awesome_.

 

“God, I love you,” Dean says as he finishes his food. Cas gives a small, contented smile.

 

“I love you, as well. And I have something for you.”

 

“Yeah? I've got something for you, too,” Dean says, unable to fight a grin. Cas looks surprised, like he wasn't expecting Dean to play along with the Easter thing, and Dean hopes the time comes when Cas stops being surprised when good things happen. He's excited, though, knowing his present might earn him a full smile from Cas.

 

Cas grabs his Easter basket for Dean from one of the kitchen cabinets, and Dean brandishes his basket for Cas from the hallways closet. They sit on the couch and exchange them, both wearing matching smiles as they look through their candy. Dean's has a piece of apple pie wrapped in pastel cellophane that can tell from sight is homemade (he wonders idly when Cas managed to make it without Dean knowing). Cas looks quietly pleased as he tears open the box of Peeps. He pops one into his mouth and his face goes all soft and happy at the taste.

 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says sincerely, making firm eye contact with Dean.

 

“Not yet. I've got one more present for you.” As if on cue, the same rustling from earlier sounds again. Cas looks at Dean curiously as he gets off the couch and grabs something big and rectangular and covered with a pastel green blanket and a little blue ribbon. There's a loud skittering sound from within it as he drags it over to the couch.

 

“Happy Easter,” he says, and Cas pulls the blanket from the object.

 

The object is a small cage, and within it is a rabbit. It's small with overlarge ears and bright blue eyes. Dean hadn't needed even a moment to pick her out – her black fur and blue eyes reminded him instantly of Cas. The pet store owner, who had thankfully been working overtime last night, had assured Dean that this particular breed is extremely affectionate, not the sort to shy away from human interaction. As if to prove this, the bunny stands up on her hind legs and presses his feet against the side of the cage, twitching her nose at Cas.

 

“Dean,” Cas says quietly after staring at the rabbit for several moments, “Dean, thank you,” he whispers. Before Dean can answer, Cas grabs the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss, pulling Dean's lower lip between his own. Dean makes a little sound like a sigh and a whimper and kisses back, wrapping an arm around Cas' waist and tugging him closer. Dean inhales deeply and swallows his fears, surging forward with tongue and getting instant reciprocation. He tugs Cas even closer, effectively dragging him onto his lap, when a loud clock alarm goes off across the room. Startled, he breaks the kiss and glares at the clock.

 

“Why do we have an alarm clock set?” Dean asks breathlessly, jaw clenching. Cas looks sheepish.

 

“To remind us to get ready for church.” Dean scowls. Cockblocked by _church_. It's fitting, he supposes, but right now all he wants to do is get in Cas' pants before he loses the nerve.

 

“Do we have to go?” Dean half-whines, pressing kisses against Cas neck. Cas makes a noise like a gasp that sends chills down Dean's spine, but, to Dean's dismay, nods.

 

“It's Easter, Dean,” Cas says, like this explains why church is better than whatever they were about to engage in. Cas disentangles himself from Dean, crawling off his lap and sitting back against the couch. He heaves a sigh and then gives Dean a tiny smile.

 

“Besides, I'd like to see you in your suit again,” he adds, and if he were anyone but Cas, Dean would swear the statement was laced with innuendo.

 

*

 

“Sam is going to Easter mass with Sarah and will join us after. Bobby, of course, could not be coerced to join either of us.”

 

“Why can't Sam just go to mass with us?”

 

They're pulling up to a church in the Impala, Kansas playing through the car speakers as Cas fiddles with his tie. The church is small but beautiful, featuring a large circular stained-glass window at its top, surrounded by several smaller windows. It has the effect of looking like a sun. Dean's not impressed, though; he finds that pretty churches tend to be dull and traditional. Not that he's had very much experience with churches, really. He can't remember the last time he visited one voluntarily or without needed something holy for a hunt. He _does_ remember that one smokin hot priest in Tampa, but that's neither here nor there (though, for the record, chastity vows suck).

 

Dean's picturing Cas in a priest outfit and weighing whether or not this is attractive when Cas nudges him, pointing out that the car is parked and they've been idling for a minute. Dean shakes himself from his lewd thoughts, reminding himself he's about to enter a church.

 

“You're sure the whole dude slash dude couple thing isn't gonna make anyone stare? Because I don't think I can stand like two hours of bitchy staring.”

 

“It's only an hour, Dean. And no, I promise that no one will stare.”

 

“As long as I don't kiss you,” Dean grumbles as they walk through the precipice. Cas sighs, rolls his eyes and kisses Dean full on the lips to prove his point. No one mingling in the lobby outside the sanctuary even flinches. They get quite a few hearty welcomes but are otherwise left in peace. Dean wishes he could remember what kind of church Cas said this one is. He can't spot any crosses or crucifixes, so he's starting to think it might not have any Christian affiliations. A non-church-church doesn't make sense, though, so Dean stops trying to figure it out.

 

At eleven, people start filing into the sanctuary and Dean and Cas follow. Dean instinctively leads them to a pew in the very back. He debates whether or not  Cas would be offended if Dean took this opportunity to nap. He reminds himself that it's only an hour and that the whole Easter shebang is really important to Cas and resolves to at least _try_ to keep his eyes open. Dean notes that, while many people are all dressed up like he and Cas are, many people are in jeans and t-shirts and even sweats. He's never seen such a laid-back church, and he appreciates that Cas went out of his way to find a place where they'd be comfortable.

 

The pastor is startlingly young and is sporting a bow tie, like Dean. He's got a lively nature to him, a brazen humor that puts Dean at ease almost instantly. He starts out with jokes, even wishes his congregation a happy “zombie Jesus day”. Cas is listening intently, leaning slightly into Dean, and Dean starts to think maybe the whole Easter Sunday thing isn't so bad after all.

 

The sermon is not about the Bible, though it mentions it occasionally. Instead, the pastor's focus is on new life and freedom – looking to the future. He talks about the renewing, refreshing feelings that Spring brings and the relevant symbolism in the resurrection of Christ. He also talks about Buddha and cites quotes from other religions, bringing them into the common theme of moving forward and reveling in the perpetual newness of life. Dean absorbs it all. He thinks about Cas, thinks about how different their lives have become since they ended the apocalypse and accidentally fell in love. He thinks about his apprehensions, too, about his fear that this new life of theirs will fall apart and that he doesn't deserve this happiness. He wants to let all that go. He wants to look toward the future, his future – one he wants to spend with Cas. He resolves to try harder to do that.

 

Church lets out exactly an hour after it began. Many people thank Dean and Cas for coming, beckon them to come again. Much as Dean liked the service, he knows he has no plans of visiting on a regular basis. Church just isn't his scene, though he thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Cas is wearing an expression that Dean has come to know as being pleased. Cas is never terribly emotive – even when he's happy, he doesn't smile wide very often, but Dean's learned the intricacies of the other man's emotions. He kinda likes knowing that he can do that, knowing that he can read Cas like a book just from a certain light in his eye or the way his lips twitch at the edges. He knows all the subtleties and nuances of Cas in a way he's never been able to with anyone but Sam. It's... nice.

 

The two of them go home and Cas immediately heads for the kitchen, plucking hard-boiled eggs from the fridge. Dean takes the hint and pulls the egg-dyeing kit from one of the kitchen drawers. He grabs a few plastic cups and fills them with water for the eggs. He hasn't done this since Sam was a kid, and even then they only dyed eggs a handful of years. Like with every holiday so far (sans St. Patrick's Day, since he's never celebrated it before this year), Dean's feeling like he's getting a tiny bit of his childhood back. He feels childish and a little dumb, but Cas' enthusiasm makes up for it.

 

Cas ducks out of the kitchen for a second and comes back with his rabbit on his shoulder. Dean opens his mouth to protest that the bunny might fall or something, but the sight of the rabbit and Cas together with their matching blue eyes and dark hair makes him grin and he knows it's not worth the pout he'd get.

 

“You got a name for him yet?”

 

“I think so. I think I may name him Sunshine.”

 

“Yeah? Why's that?”

 

“You called me that this morning,” Cas says, dropping the color tablets into the cups of water and adding vinegar, “I thought it was endearing.”

 

Dean gets over the initial embarrassment and snorts. “What if I wanna call you that again? It'll be weird if the bunny's got the same name.”

 

“I'll know the difference,” Cas says simply, and drops the first egg into the water. He reaches for the little scooping wire the kit provides right off the bat, and makes a face at the egg when he plucks it out.

 

“Cas, you have to _wait_ first. It's not going to dye right away.”

 

“Oh.” With a splash, Cas drops the egg back into the water and adds eggs to the rest of the cups. He sits on the edge of the counter and looks at Dean.

 

“I like Easter,” Cas remarks. Dean walks over and ruffles Cas' hair.

 

“Yeah? Well, I like _you_.”

 

Cas looks puzzled. “I should hope so.” Dean groans and rolls his eyes.

 

“I was being cheesy, Cas, Christ. You really are a moment ruiner, you know that?”

 

“How did I-”

 

“Check your eggs, dude.”

 

Cas does so. The eggs are all bright pastels and Cas looks visibly happy at the sight. Dean's happy, too; he's not sure what's so damn charming about colored eggs, but he likes the sight. Cas is practically and Easter post card with his pink tie, bunny on is shoulder and egg in hand. Dean almost wants to take a picture.

 

They make about twelve more before Dean tells Cas he's going overboard. Dean demonstrates how he and Sam used to mix the colors and get all sorts of new colors and shades. Cas especially likes the vibrant green they get when they mix the green, blue and yellow. For the last egg, they mix all the colors together and get a weirdish, black or dark purple color that's decidedly more unattractive than the rest.

 

“Let em dry, we're going to need them in like 10 minutes,” Dean says.

 

“What for? I don't need them until Easter dinner tonight.”

 

“You'll see.”

 

*

 

Dean found this place by accident. He'd been driving home from the grocery store about three weeks ago, bag of flour for Cas' most recent recipe in tow, when he'd caught sight of something darting behind an abandoned building. He thought he saw its eyes flash – he wasn't sure, but his hunter senses were tingling, so to speak – so he pulled over and decided to check it out. He went through the tall, creaky wooden gate and through tall weeds to the yard behind the building. What he found was anything but frightening.

 

The building had been uninhabited for years, yet behind it was a beautiful _garden_. It was a little overrun, but was obviously cared for on a regular basis. Dean was instantly reminded of something, though it took him a moment to place it. All at once he realized that the place seemed almost _exactly_ out of the Secret Garden, that girly kid's movie Sam had been so obsessed with when he was 13. It was surrounded on all sides by a tall wooden fence that hid it from view of anyone who might pass by. It was nothing short of breathtaking, particularly for the sheer serendipity of it.

 

Dean caught sight of what he'd thought was something supernatural; it turned out to be a human, nothing more. The man reminded him remarkably of Joshua, heaven's gardener. He had that same sort of tranquil look to him, and Dean wondered how he managed to confuse him with something threatening.

 

“Some garden you got here,” Dean had said, for lack of anything better to say.

 

“You're free to come whenever you like,” the man had replied quietly, “She deserves some attention. Lately, I'm the only one who ever sees the beauty here. There are flower blossoms everywhere now that it's Spring.” He absently snipped at an overgrown twig and smiled at Dean.

 

“Uh, thanks,” had been Dean's intelligent response. He'd left almost immediately after, feeling slightly  perturbed and a little awed at his discovery. Only recently did Dean remember it.

 

Now, he pulls up to the familiar building with Cas beside him, still clad in his Sunday best. He's holding two baskets – one is full of the eggs they dyed and the other is full of the plastic sort that pop open to hide surprises inside. He eyes the building warily when they pull up, then looks around at the surrounding buildings as though wondering if he's missed the reason for their current parking lot. Dean's amused by Cas' confusion.

 

“Come on,” Dean beckons as he gets out of the car and walks towards the gate. Cas follows behind, brow furrowed, clutching at both baskets.

 

Cas is more than a little amazed when Dean opens the gate. The garden is in even better shape than it was before; the gardener seems to have put in some extra time since Dean last saw the place. Dean now wishes he'd asked more questions – why is this place here if the building is abandoned? Why keep up with it? Whether he knows or not, though, he's grateful. The look of wonder on Cas' face is priceless.

 

“We're gonna have an Easter egg hunt here,” Dean says. “I figured it'd be less crowded than the public park.”

 

Cas looks down at the baskets in his hands. “What are the plastic eggs for?”

 

“You're gonna hide the dyed eggs and I have to find them, and I'm gonna hide the plastic eggs and you have to find them. We'll have like, a contest. Whoever finds them all first gets a massage when we get home. Sound good?”

 

Cas nods.

 

“This is such a frivolous holiday.”

 

“No shit, Cas. We're two grown men in a vacant lot playing hide and seek with pastel eggs. None of this makes any sense.”

 

“Perhaps that's why I like it.”

 

Dean shrugs. “Figures. Who hides their eggs first?”

 

“You may.”

 

Cas waits outside the gate while Dean picks expert hiding places for his eggs. In trees, in high grass, between flower petals... Dean tries to be as thorough as possible. He wants this to be fun for Cas, wants him to get a kick out of his first Easter egg hunt like every little kid in the world who's doing the same thing right now. They've got fifteen eggs each and it takes Dean a while to find all the best hiding spots, but he hears Cas clear his throat loudly from the other side of the fence and he figures his time is out. He opens the door, jerking his thumb in the direction of the garden.

 

“Your turn – and no looking while you're hiding yours, that's cheating.”

 

“Understood. I'll call you in shortly.”

 

Dean leans against the fence and waits, eyes up on the clouds. He _swears_ he sees a cloud shaped like a bunny and is just about to do a double take when Cas beckons him in.

 

Dean does a quick scope of the area, but he can't spot any eggs right off the bat. What he _can_ see is that Cas is trying to conceal something in his hand. Something bright pink and round.

 

“Cas! You cheater!”

 

Cas flushes red and looks at the floor.

 

“I – I wanted to see what was inside.”

 

Suddenly, it's Dean's turn to flush red.

 

“Did you, uh – Did you open it, or...?”

 

“Not yet. Shall we start the game with a count of three?”

 

“Sounds good. One, two... three.”

 

They split up and go to opposite sides of the garden, Cas taking the far side and Dean at the side closer to the gate. Dean's got an Easter basket in hand and feels absolutely ridiculous, but he can't help but feel a little childish pride when he manages to spot an egg tangled in some ivy along the fence. The competitor in him wonders if Cas has found any yet – and, more importantly, if he's opened any. He looks across the garden and sees Cas standing still, staring at something in his hands. Dean can only assume Cas has opened one and is looking at its contents. Dean studiously looks elsewhere.

 

Twenty minutes later, Dean has found fourteen eggs. He has no idea how many Cas has; whereas Dean shouts “Found one!” every time he locates an egg, Cas is quiet the whole time. Dean's going a little crazy trying to find this last egg, having searched the garden over and over at least five times. Cas, however, seems to be taking his time.

 

“How many do you have, Cas?” Dean asks after a while of futile searching.

 

“Eleven.”

 

“I totally have you beat, man. I just can't find that damn last egg.”

 

“How long have you been looking?”

 

“I'm pretty sure I've spent at least ten minutes on this one egg alone. You hid it well.”

 

A small smile creeps onto Cas' lips, and then he laughs. Dean raises his eyebrows, surprised by this uncommon display of emotion. Dean understands when Cas slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a bright blue egg. Dean gapes.

 

“Cas! Not cool, man, you totally screwed with me.”

 

Cas looks quite amused and entirely pleased with himself. “I thought it would be amusing.”

 

Dean snorts. “You're a jerk, you know that?”

 

“Hm, perhaps. But you've won yourself a massage, so you can't exactly complain.”

 

Dean is reminded of the prize – he'd forgotten. Honestly, he'd been kind of hoping Cas would win. He's not sure he can take the feeling of Cas nimble hands all over his bare back. He might actually lose his goddamn mind. He swallows, shifts his bow tie and absently clears his throat. He takes a seat in the grass, opting to watch Cas search for the remaining eggs while he tries to mentally steel himself for later.

 

Turns out Cas has lost because he's opening every egg as he finds them, pausing to look each one over. He doesn't say anything about them, just keeps searching every time. It makes Dean incredibly uncomfortable, being unable to read Cas' reaction. He doesn't like how self-conscious Cas' silence is making him.

 

At last, Cas finds the last egg and joins Dean on the ground. He's got a basket full of open eggs – and notes. Dean meticulously filled every egg with little notes for Cas. Every note has a reason he loves his boyfriend. Dean tries not to look at the basket and can't bring himself to look at Cas. His little gesture suddenly feels very, very lame.

 

“I love you,” Cas says, “I love all of you, everything. Thank you, Dean.” He sounds earnest, voice full of more emotion than Dean's used to. He thinks back on all the notes he stayed up writing last night. Things like _I love your hands, dude, they're fucking beautiful_ and _You threw a Molotov cocktail at Michael's head, you're a friggin badass._ He seriously lost all sense of dignity writing these; he's delved so far into chick flick land that he's actually concerned the testosterone levels in his body might get thrown off. Some messages were even worse. _I love waking up next to you every morning,_ for one, and _Nobody can tell me off like you can and it's awesome_. Cas is just staring at him now, eyes full of so much _feeling_ that Dean doesn't even know what to do.

 

“I love you too, Cas,” Dean says, voice small and he feels smaller. He feels tiny under the impressive weight of all Cas' feelings for him.

 

*

 

They get back with just enough time for Cas to make dinner before Sam, Sarah, Bobby and Jodie arrive. They're still in their Sunday best when they get home, but the kitchen heats up quick when Cas sets the oven to preheat, and Cas puts his suit jacket, vest and dress shirt on the back of a chair in their tiny dining room. He's left wearing only a tight white tank top. Dean does the same, though he leaves his dress shirt on. He takes in the sight of the muscles in his boyfriend's back, his visibly thin but strong arms.

 

Dean peels the colored eggs so Cas can try out his recipe for deviled eggs. Cas finely chops smoked salmon to add to the eggs once they're prepared, combining it with a bunch of herbs Dean's not really familiar with. It looks appetizing, though, and Cas hands look cool as he chops everything and then whips it all together. It reminds Dean of all those chef shows on the Food Network, the way they all look impressive because they're professionals. Cas, of course, is not a professional, but sometimes Dean thinks that he should be.

 

Once Dean's done peeling, Cas says he doesn't need his help anymore. Dean pouts but otherwise doesn't complain; he has an inkling any more of his touches in the kitchen could potentially sabotage their dinner. He sits on the edge of the only counter Cas isn't using and watches him working, eyes tracing the movement of the other man's hands. Cas boils asparagus, chops shallot and puts it all together with a blend of salad greens, spices, oil and vinegar. It's one of the most appealing salads Dean's ever seen, and that's an incredible feat. Dean's not exactly a salad person.

 

Cas says he's not much of a ham person, and the recipe for lamb chops he's found sounds a lot more fun to cook, anyway. He goes about preparing it, nimble fingers squeezing lime and mincing garlic cloves. The sight of Cas' hands in a flurry of motion is driving Dean a little crazy; he can't stop thinking of all the _other_ things Cas could be doing with those hands. He hops off the counter and strides over to Cas, wrapping his arms around Cas' waist and pressing his own chest to Cas' back. Cas' chopping pauses briefly, but after a moment the rhythm picks up again.

 

Dean presses a kiss to the side of Cas' neck and moves his mouth up to Cas' jaw, closing his eyes when his lips brush against scruffy stubble.

 

“Dean, I'm trying to cook,” Cas says, but it's a weak protest and Dean ignores it. Instead, he brings his mouth to the back of Cas' neck and nips a bite at the soft, sensitive skin there. Cas' whole body tenses up and he drops the knife on the counter with a loud clang.

 

“Dean,” he says, voice low and notably more gravelly than normal. Dean grins and does it again, earning a shudder from Cas.

 

“Dean – Dean, if this ham isn't in the oven in the next ten minutes, it won't be done in time,” Cas says, obviously struggling to keep his voice steady. Dean traces his nails up and down the fabric of Cas' tank top, over his sides. Dean inhales a shaky breath and places his hands over Dean's, gently pulling them off. He turns around and gives Dean a painfully chaste kiss.

 

“Go straighten up the living room,” he orders and Dean pouts as convincingly as he can. Cas isn't swayed, though, and Dean concedes to his fate. He treks out to the living room feeling sorry for himself, but he tucks his new found knowledge into the back of his head – the back of Cas' neck is a _very_ intense weak spot.

 

Dean puts away any clothes that are hanging around their bedroom slash living room where they shouldn't be, dusts off the TV a bit and then plops onto the couch. He perks up when he hears the sound of the oven door closing, though.

 

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean whines, “come here and kiss me.”

 

“I have potatoes, rolls and pie to make, Dean.”

 

Dean makes a discontented sound but says nothing else. He takes Sunshine out of her cage and sits back on the couch, settling in and petting her. She's friendly and she twitches her nose at him, pressing her front paws to his chest and looking at him with a curiosity that reminds Dean of Cas. He lays his head back on the couch and closes his eyes with the sole intention of resting his eyes.

 

He awakes what feels like seconds later to the sound of the doorbell.

 

“Dean,” Cas says from the doorway of the kitchen. His tie is hanging loose from his neck and he's pulling on his jacket over his vest and dress shirt. “Dean, get dressed.” The doorbell rings again and Cas scowls. “My tie is undone.”

 

Dean yawns and stretches. “Sammy's early,” he mumbles.

 

“No, you fell asleep for an hour and a half. Get _dressed_.” Cas opens the door, then. Bobby and Sheriff Mills are standing at the entrance; Sam and Sarah haven't arrived yet. Jodie is looking lovely in a white sundress, though it's disorienting seeing her in anything but her uniform. Bobby looks happy as a lark, from Dean's vantage point where he's tugging layers on.

 

“Hello, Bobby, Sheriff Mills,” Cas says, “Happy Easter.”

 

“Please, call me Jodie,” Jodie says warmly, smiling. “Happy Easter to you too, Castiel!”

 

“What she said,” Bobby says gruffly. Cas invites them in and Dean shakes hands, pats backs and revels in how happy Bobby looks with Jodie. Every time Bobby looks at her it's like he's eying a million dollars, and Dean can't remember the last time he saw Bobby this happy. Jodie looks equally pleased.

 

“It smells amazing in here,” Jodie says, looking surprised. Cas looks shy and busies himself with lighting his dorky Easter candles.

 

“Yeah, well, that's my Cas,” Dean says, and it sounds cheesy even to his own ears. Bobby's expression is beyond amused, borderline smug, but he doesn't say anything. He just exchanges knowing glances with Jodie. Yeah, Dean's got it bad – and apparently, everyone has noticed.

 

“Well, get cozy. Sam should be here soon,” Dean says, ushering them to the couches. The bunny's on the floor scampering about.

 

“Dean, that is one of the sissiest pets I've ever seen,” Bobby says when he catches sight of it. “You boys got yourselves a damn bunny.”

 

“Hey! Shut up. Sunshine's badass.”

 

“ _Sunshine?_ ” Bobby mocks. Jodie gives him a light punch on the arm.

 

“Quiet, Bobby, it's cute. She's obviously an Easter present.”

 

“Yeah, I got her for Cas,” Dean says awkwardly. The rabbit bounds over to him and stops at his feet, looking up at him expectantly. Dean rolls his eyes, but picks her up.

 

“ _Right_. For Cas,” Bobby says, that same knowing smirk on his lips. Dean scowls. Before he can retort, however, the doorbell rings. He puts Sunshine on his shoulder like Cas was before and quickly answers the door. Sam's there in Easter Sunday best, wearing a pastel blue tie. Sarah's there, too, in a bright yellow sundress and a matching yellow bow in her hair. The most remarkable thing, though, is Sam's hair. It's _short_. Dean hasn't seen it this short since Stanford.

 

“Someone trimmed the mane!” Dean exclaims as he gives his brother a hug. “Sarah, man, I could kiss you. I've been telling this loser to cut his hair for years.”

 

Sarah grins. “I told him he had to sleep outside until he cut it. He is _not_ supposed to be the Rapunzel in this relationship, thanks.”

 

Sam snorts. “You didn't mind when we first met.”

 

“Oh yes I did. I just saw the _potential_ there.” She twirls a strand of Sam's hair fondly.

 

“Hmph,” Sam says, but the happy look on his face betrays him. Sam has it bad like Dean's got it bad, and Dean's grateful he's not the only one wearing the stupid-in-love look on his face that he knows he has.

 

Cas gives Sam an awkward hug and Sarah an even more awkward handshake, wishing them both a very formal Happy Easter. His stiffness is endearing. Dean reminds himself it's impolite to constantly kiss his boyfriend when there's company, but he can't stop himself from giving Cas a quick peck on the lips. It'd be much easier to be polite if Cas wasn't so damn adorable.

 

“Help me in the kitchen, Dean,” Cas becks as he goes into the kitchen. Dean follows obediently as Sam and Sarah strike up conversation with Bobby and Jodie behind him. Cas has the seldom-used cupboard with the wineglasses open, a bottle of wine in his hand.

 

“I need you to carry some of these,” Cas says. Dean raises an eyebrow.

 

“Wine?”

 

“The Internet says it goes well with Easter dinner.”

 

“Whatever you say, Cas,” Dean says, and plucks five glasses from their cabinet.

 

“You're short one,” Cas says, reaching past Dean to grab another glass. Dean shakes his head.

 

“Nope. I wanna be totally sober for... uh, later.”

 

Cas meets his eyes and seems to get the meaning, because he plucks a glass from Dean's hands and puts it back. Dean takes this as an incredibly good sign.

 

“Then I will refrain as well,” Cas says evenly. Dean gulps. He's pretty sure he's getting all green lights at this point, and he's starting to think he might actually move forward in the more intimate aspects in his relationship with Cas. The idea makes him nervous for some unknowable reason, though; his throat goes dry as he starts to think about it. He reminds himself that they have guests and pushes the thoughts out of his mind.

 

Bobby eyes Dean curiously when he doesn't drink with everyone else, but again acknowledges it only with a raise of his eyebrows. This time his knowing glance is exchanged with Sam, who smiles and reflects it. When Sam notices that Dean is witnessing this exchange, he has the grace to look guilty. Bobby, however, seems to have an eternally smug expression plastered on his face.

 

“This wine is great, Cas,” Sarah says, “Best I've had in a while. How'd you hear about it?”

 

“Internet,” Cas responds with simply. “There was a website about Easter. Among the crucifixes and Bible verses were recipes and wine recommendations.”

 

Sarah nods. “Makes sense. Catholics love to get their drink on.”

 

A timer dings from the kitchen and Cas smiles.

 

“Dinner is done,” he announces, “Dean, come help me set the table.”

 

Dean complies and follows Cas into the kitchen, plucking plates from the shelves. It dawns on him that he actually friggin loves holidays now. He's not sure at one point he transitions from “eh” to this new state – it snuck up on him, it seems – but he's beyond happy. The familiar clink of multiple plates being pulled out, the enticing aroma of a big family dinner... it's everything he never had when he was growing up. It's nothing short of amazing that Cas, a fallen angel who knew nothing of humanity, is the one who brings them all together again and again every time a holiday rolls around. He likes seeing his brother and Bobby so often, likes the sight of everyone all dressed up and formal. It feels warm in a way Dean hasn't felt since he was four years old, before his mother died. Cas in himself makes him feel warm all over. Dean's finally starting to realize that he doesn't have to doubt anymore; this new life of his isn't going away any time soon.

 

“Cas, you've outdone yourself!” Jodie exclaims once all the food's been served. Everyone else chimes in with their assent and load their plates with enough food to leave them more stuffed than is probably healthy. Everyone updates everyone else on their lives, affable chatter and the smell of excellent food filling the tiny dining room. Sam and Sarah are aiming for a Summer wedding, apparently. Jodie and Bobby eat dinner at Bobby's every night. Bobby's face does something dangerously close to _blush_ when this information is disclosed, and Jodie rolls her eyes. All in all, everyone seems happy.

 

… It's actually kind of trippy.

 

They filter into the living room once they're done eating, waiting for their food to digest before tucking into dessert. Cas sits next to Dean, holding Sunshine, and leans into him. Dean's overwhelmed, yet again, and he can't stop himself from tugging Cas into his lap. He refrains from kissing him in fear of being obnoxious at this point, but Cas tilts his head and presses a kiss to Dean's lips and Dean can't really blame himself for _that_. The kiss goes on longer than it ought to with company around.

 

“Jesus, guys, get a room. Little brother is here. Right here. Seeing you. I need to bleach my eyes.” Dean responds with his middle finger, but his lips part from Cas' with a tiny smirk. Cas' eyes are shining in the way they do when he's especially pleased.

 

“My apologies,” Cas says, giving Sam a sheepish smile, “I'm just... happy.”

 

Sam's returning smile is bright. “Hey, me too Cas. Me too.”

 

The evening ends with an _awesome_ apple crumb pie and warm cups of Easter tea. Everyone looks at Cas like he's some sort of saint – and really, he should be – when it's time to leave. Sarah and Jodie ask for recipes as a last minute thought on their way out, and the three of them go to the kitchen to grab them.

 

“So,” Sam says.

 

“So,” Dean replies, raising an eyebrow.

 

“You planning on popping the question any time soon?” Sam asks with a smirk, and if Dean had been drinking something he probably would have spit it out all over Sam's face. The look he gives him is incredulous.

 

“Jesus, Sammy, it's a miracle I'm even in a relationship. I'm gonna go ahead and pretend that question never happened.”

 

“You better get on with it, idjit,” Bobby chimes in, “It's about time.” Dean turns his incredulous look on Bobby.

 

“Not you too, man. You can't be serious. I thought you'd be defending me.”

 

“You're not getting any younger, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean glowers.

  
“One more _word_ and I am not responsible for any bodily harm that comes to you from my fists.”

 

Cas and the girls come from the kitchen. Cas has a peculiar expression on his face, and Dean can only assume the ladies and he had a similar conversation in the kitchen. Dean groans.

 

“You're all, like, diabolical. Get out of my house,” Dean says, teasing, and gives his everyone hugs on their way out. Cas' hugs are stiff but genuine, and they earn a laugh from Jodie.

 

“This was nice, Cas. Thanks for inviting us,” she says, smiling and ruffling a hand through Cas' hair.

 

“Thank you for coming. It was my pleasure.”

 

All too soon, they're alone in the house. It seems extra quiet in wake of the party of people, and Dean is painfully aware of his own breathing.

 

“Dean,” Cas says, taking a lighter from the coffee table and lighting all the candles that have blown out throughout the course of the night, “I still owe you a massage.”

 

Dean swallows. Yeah. That.

 

“You don't have to, man,” Dean says offhand, like he hasn't been thinking about it all day.

 

Cas shakes his head. “You won the Easter egg hunt, Dean. That makes this a 'holiday thing'. My domain.”

 

Dean nods slowly, eyes flickering to the bed. “So I should just...”

 

“Take off your shirt.” Even though Cas says it in an even tone, the words make Dean's pulse pound. Dean takes off his blazer and vest and starts fiddling with his bow tie when Cas strides over and pulls his bow tie loose himself. He unbuttons Dean's shirt as well, lovely fingers working down the front. Dean inhales sharply, exhales. _Just a massage_ , Dean tells himself, though he really doesn't believe it. Cas slowly, slowly pulls the dress shirt off Dean, and Dean pulls his tank top over his head. Feeling brazen, Dean plucks Cas' tie loose and pulls his blazer off him with artificial composure. Cas unbuttons his own shirt and leaves his tank top on, much to Dean's silent dismay.

 

“Lay down,” Cas says, and again his voice is level but the command makes Dean's heart flutter, anyway. He obeys, though, walking to the bed and laying on his stomach. Cas disappears into the bathroom to grab the same menthol oil Dean used on Valentine's Day. He shuts the lights off on his way over, leaving the room illuminated only by the numerous candles all around the room. A quiet sigh slips from Dean's lips when Cas coats his back with the tingly wet substance.

 

To Dean's complete and utter surprise, Cas doesn't massage him standing. Instead, he gets on the bed and puts his knees on either side of Dean, essentially straddling him without really touching him.

 

“Cas?” Dean asks, somehow hiding the quavery note his voice wants to make.

 

“I looked up the best way to do this,” Cas explains, “as I've never done it before. I was advised that this position would give me the best leverage for the right pressure on your back.”

 

“Oh,” is Dean's intelligent answer. He's still stuck on the word _position_.

 

Cas fingers pressing hard against Dean's back are borderline more than he can bear, but he manages to keep his breathing steady and his hands from clutching at the sheets or something equally embarrassing. Cas' hands are as expert kneading his muscles as they are mincing things in the kitchen, and Dean's having trouble keeping it together.

 

“You're quite tense,” Cas mentions as he works, “Am I doing this wrong? Should I stop?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Dean hisses, and is surprised by the fervor in his voice. Cas seems surprised, too, because he pauses a moment. He continues after a beat, though.

 

Dean's back does relax after a while, though; whatever tutorial Cas researched definitely knew what it was talking about. After an indeterminable amount of time, Cas stops massaging him and instead presses kisses to Dean's spine. Dean shudders and isn't sure if Cas notices. Is Cas intentionally being this sensual, or is his angel really just naïve and full of love? Dean's sure it's the latter and chides himself for his thoughts.

 

When Cas bites at the place between Dean's shoulder and neck, any doubts on whether Cas is trying to turn him on are gone. He turns around quickly and wraps an arm around Cas, dragging him down til he's laying atop Dean. Cas' eyes are dark, and Dean's pretty sure it's not the low lighting to blame. He's also pretty sure his eyes are equally lust blown as Cas'.

 

“Dean,” Cas says, and there's something in his voice that makes Dean shiver again. He does not wait for further dialogue and kisses Cas, not hesitating to part the other man's lips with his tongue. Cas responds eagerly and Dean realizes suddenly that _this is it._ This is happening.

 

Cas ghosts pretty fingers over Dean's bare chest, first tantalizingly light and quickly fading into something more intense. Smooth caresses become scratches, increasingly needy. Dean's not sure when each touch became electricity, but he decides all at once that it's incredibly unfair that he's the only one shirtless. He tugs at Cas' shirt and Cas gets the picture, pulling the shirt over his head and going back to kissing Dean immediately. There is breathing – ragged, breathy breathing – _barely_ breathing. Urgency heightens with each passing moment.

 

The candlelight dances shadows on the walls, making the room around them feel small. It helps in making the rest of the world slip away; soon all and everything is Cas, Cas, Cas. Cas' chest against him feels _right_ , like it's something Dean hadn't realized he'd been missing but had actually needed desperately. He feels like a kid, wanting to bite and brand Cas with hickeys and scratches. And yet, there's something soft about it all, despite the urgency, the _need_. It's romantic. Dean has never had intimacy as romantic as this. Every kiss is _I love you_ , every touch, be it gentle or otherwise, is an unsaid whisper, a mantra of love declarations. Dean sucks bruises against Cas' collar bones, his neck, and hopes his mouth can speak without words.

 

Thunder claps outside and startles them both, Cas jumping visibly and then casting a glare at the window as though the ensuing rain outside it had made a conscious decision to interrupt. The rain seems to ignite something in Cas, though, and the fierce look he casts at Dean makes his heart skip a beat. Then Cas is trailing kisses down, down, down, stopping to lick into Dean's belly button. Dean whimpers, throws his head back and gasps again and again for air. Cas lingers at the line of Dean's slacks, tongue and lips and teeth giving attention that might literally make Dean lose his mind. He resorts to shameful begging.

 

“Cas – please -” he says, voice sounding hoarse and broken to his own ears. He's suddenly reminded of the first time he said those words, begging Cas for mercy. The situation had been so different – Cas had been beating him within an inch of his life in a cold, wet alley. Dean had failed Cas miserably, then, and Cas' righteous fury had exploded into the worst beating of Dean's life.

 

“Just _do it_ ,” Dean pleas, again echoing his words from that night. Circumstances are different, now. No one's failing anyone. The only thing in this room is shallow breathing and unadulterated love. Dean's hips tremble as he fights their insatiable will to buck forward, body willing to be in synch with the nonsensical whimpers and begs flowing from his mouth. Cas – Cas actually _chuckles_ , low and dark and completely unexpected. Dean can't take it.

 

“ _God,_ Cas,” Dean half-hisses, “Cas – Cas, fuck.” Dean's starting to forget every word in his vocabulary but Cas' name. Dean can feel Cas' smile against his flesh as he moves up Dean's body and nips at Dean's nipples.

 

“You fucking cocktease,” Dean growls, hands quickly reaching to Cas' hair and tugging at it relentlessly.

 

“What?” Cas asks, pausing, clearly unfamiliar with the expression. Dean groans.

 

“It means I might actually explode if you don't suck me off or fuck me _now_.”

 

“Oh,” Cas says, and aptly goes back to Dean's nipples, as though he's decided he's perfectly fine with being a cocktease. Dean tries to protest but his words are interrupted by a tiny moan he didn't give his throat permission to make.

 

“You're going to _kill_ me,” Dean says, and he know he sounds wrecked and needy. He hasn't wanted it like this in a long time – maybe never.

 

His hands slip to the small of Cas' back, trying to go on the offensive, trying to make Cas feels like he feels. Cas moans, a small, muted thing, and Dean feels mostly successful.

 

“Cases of death due to sex between two consenting parties are rare, Dean.”

 

“Oh God – Word to the wise, Cas? Do not take anything I say during sex literally.”

 

Cas stops what his mouth is doing and looks at Dean curiously, furrowing his brow and tilting his head. It might look comical, Cas looking so confused with his hair all disheveled and his lips kissed pink and puffy, if Dean weren't so turned on. He is, though, and his lust-filled mind is screaming at him that any type of stopping is _bad_.

 

“No – fuck, ignore that. Not _anything_. Like if I tell you how friggin hot you are – or, y'know _fuck me,_ you should take that very literally.”

 

“I see,” Cas says. Dean slips one of his thighs between Cas' leg and thrusts upward with his hips. It has the intended effect – Cas' eyes squeeze shut and breathes hard, whimpers, seems to fall apart a little. Dean leads Cas' face to his with a hand to his jaw, kisses him again and again.

 

“How long have you wanted this?” Dean asks, breathless.

 

“Since before I fell. I think that I have always been yours, Dean. Since the moment I branded your soul with my hand, I was yours.”

 

Cas places his hand over Dean's scar and squeezes, and this information is almost too much. Cas has loved Dean a very, very long time.

 

“Didn't know angels could want this,” Dean says, thrusting up, creating glorious friction that left Cas mewling.

 

“The want felt different then. Restrained. With my humanity has come a new-” Cas' words are broken off with a gasp; Dean has his palm over Cas' crotch, gripping lightly. Cas' breath comes fast and shallow.

 

Dean leans forward, presses his mouth to Cas' ear.

 

“Show me how human you are,” Dean says, voice a low growl. He can feel Cas shaking at the stimulation in the sensitive nerves around his ear. “Fuck me.”

 

Cas looks at him, meeting his eyes for a moment and then glancing away.

 

“Dean,” he says, sounding suddenly stilted and awkward, “I want to.” He gasps again when Dean bucks his hips forward. “But – Dean ... _how?_ ” He sounds so sheepish Dean wants to hug him. Which would be really weird under the current circumstances.

  
Dean realizes that Cas has no idea what he's doing. He's going on pure instinct here – he's never been with anyone before, never seen porn, has no prior knowledge of sex. All he has is what his body is telling him, Dean's words and actions. While it'd probably be easier to roll them over and take over, teach Cas by example, it's inexplicably important that Cas leads for his first time.

 

… He seems pretty comfortable on top as it is.

 

“I'll teach you,” Dean says, “But you might wanna get us out of our pants.”

 

Cas nods, awkwardness gone in a flash. He makes quick work of stripping Dean of his pants and boxers and then his own. Cas moans properly for the first time when their dicks make contact with bare skin. Dean revels in it, shivers shaking through his system. The sound is like gold.

 

“Fingers inside me, man,” Dean says, trying to keep this from being awkward, “you gotta, uh...”  
  
Cas complies immediately, seeming to get Dean's idea right off the bat. Which would be seriously lucky for Dean if he hadn't forgotten a _seriously crucial detail_. Dean grits his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath and then gasping, shaking his head but unable to speak because... _ow_. It's not Cas' fault he didn't know about the necessity of lube, but Dean hasn't bottomed in years and the pain is pretty intense given Cas is only two fingers in. Thankfully, Cas plucks his fingers out immediately at the sight of Dean's duress.

 

“Dean?” 

 

Dean heaves another great sigh and collects himself. He points at the menthol oil Cas used on his back and gives a small chuckle when Cas gives him a curious look.

 

“If you're sticking anything inside me, it's gotta be wet,” Dean explains, and something seems to click in Cas' brain.

 

“Dean, I'm so-”

 

Dean shakes his head vigorously. “Cas, shh,” he breathes in and out, chest shaking, “My fault.” Cas is hovering over him, looking like a strange mix between concerned and completely wrecked with _want_. The sight pulls Dean up short and he realizes he needs to get this show on the road _now_. He's pretty sure he can't handle seeing Cas so undone any longer if he plans on keeping it together.

 

“Cas – need you, Cas, please -” he says, giving the bottle of oil a pointed look. This quiet plea sets Cas in motion, and he coats his hands, his dick in the slippery substance. His fingers hesitate this time before they push in, but a very undignified whimper from Dean gives him the courage to try a second time. This time, the contact of fingers inside him makes Dean's back arch and he gasps – there's nothing awkward about this, for friggin sure.

 

“Sc – scissor -” Dean instructs, but Cas looks confused. Dean stares at the ceiling, groaning at his awful luck. They should have watched porn together first or something.

 

“Fuck, uh – open me up, dude, you're about to stick something really big somewhere really tight.” Cas nods and acts accordingly. His fingers abjectly brush Dean's prostate and his whole body freezes up for a short moment.

  
“Fuck – fuck, okay, I'm ready. Like _now._ Shit,” Dean's half babbling, pressing down in Cas' fingers. He's got his face buried in Cas' neck and the kisses he leaves there are almost worshipful.

 

Cas seems to like the whole cocktease thing, because instead of complying he brushes that sensitive spot _again_ and Dean's completely taken apart, mouthing forming an 'O' and breaths shuddery against Cas' skin.

 

“Now what?” Cas asks, and Dean is pretty sure he's going to lose his marbles at this point.

 

“Now you shove yourself inside me and _move_ , Christ.”

 

Cas nods. “I thought so.”

 

Dean might have rolled his eyes if Cas' fingers hadn't hit that _spot_ again before they pulled out. Cas positions himself over Dean, heaves a deep breath and pushes in. And – and somehow this naïve, awkward, confused fallen angel manages to hit Dean's prostate on the spot, first time. Dean throws his head back and is completely not in charge of the animal noises that slip from his mouth.

 

Cas' body seems to finally know what it's doing because he doesn't need to ask Dean what to do anymore. He rolls his hips forward, hitting that spot again and again. Again, there's something acutely romantic in it. Cas' thrusts seem somehow _meaningful_ – this isn't just sex. It's being one with the man Dean loves. It's being filled with the guy who went to friggin _hell_ to save him.

 

Dean's fists curl in the sheets and Cas places his own hands over them, squeezing tight. Every time Dean opens his eyes, he sees Cas' blue eyes staring down, startlingly dark. Dean can't keep his eyes open for too long at a time; Cas' stare is simply too intense.

 

Cas leans forward to whisper in Dean's ear. “I love you,” he says, nearly inaudibly – and that's it, that's a wrap, Dean's a goner. He quickly buries his face in Cas' neck, unfurls his hands so he can hold Cas' as he comes, great quavery shakes and tiny whimpers streaming from his mouth. Cas pulses forward only a few thrusts more before his body seizes up and he comes, too.

 

They lay in a heap together, panting and recovering, chest to chest as they regain a normal rate of breath. Finally, Cas leans up on his elbow and looks at Dean.

 

“Happy Easter,” he says, and Dean laughs.

 

“You're really something, Cas,” Dean says, grinning. Cas grins back – and a grin from Cas is a rare occasion. Dean absorbs the mental image, wonders if Cas will always smile this wide after sex. Dean hooks an arm around Cas and pulls him to his chest, rolls him over so he can spoon the man who pretty much just fucked his brains out.

 

“I'm glad I'm human,” Cas says after a while, so long that Dean thought he might have fallen asleep. Dean presses kiss to Cas' hair.

 

“Me too, Cas,” he agrees sleepily, and after a moment, “Happy Easter.”

 

They fall asleep in their messy bed with their feet entangled. The last thing Dean thinks before he drifts off is that the phrase 'made for each other' suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.

 

 

 


End file.
